Even in the middle of a pandemic, even when it feels like so much in the world has changed so suddenly, it’s comforting to see how much Anversa degli Abruzzi remains exactly the same. The hillsides are the exact same startling green that they were last year at this time. The view from the house’s back terrace is identical, as is the old gnarled fig tree framing that view, despite a supposedly over-aggressive pruning undertaken during the lockdown. Inside the house, it feels like not even a spec of dust has changed since the last time we were there, months earlier. And outside, around the town, everything is reassuringly just as it was before: The groups of old women gossiping on the row of benches under the chestnut trees. The aperitivo in the piazza at Beppuccio’s bar with its generous bowls of salty snacks to accompany an ice-cold beer and a view of the town’s comings-and-goings. The faces (albeit masked). And the pack of hunting dogs somewhere down in the valley that yap and howl incessantly all through the night. It’s all the same, and it’s comforting.